A Study in Forever
by Hades Lord of the Dead
Summary: As Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson launch an investigation into the death of one of the Irregulars, they soon realise the case is more complicated than they first thought. Children are being taken from the streets of London and there are rumours of a mysterious creature haunting the night... Gift!fic for Catherine Spark - happy birthday awesome friend!
1. Chapter 1 - A Death in the Family

**A/N - **_Hello! This fic is dedicated to Catherine Spark as a very belated birthday present. The plot got a little out of hand. To anyone reading any of my other stories, please don't worry, they're getting written too.  
_

_Also I have no idea where this story will end up - I have a few vague ideas but hey, let's just see shall we?_

_This isn't supposed to be part of any particular Batman universe - I decided to just kind of roll with it and create my own, sort of-ish. Yeah._

_HUGE MASSIVE ULTRA THANKS TO _**mrspencil **_FOR BETAREADING AND BEING AMAZING AND STUFF. The good sentences are probably hers._

_Please review to tell me what you think._

* * *

_Chapter 1 - A Death in the Family_

_**Watson**_

It all began in the midst of an almighty storm. Rain poured down in sheets, and the windows rattled in their frames from the force of the gale outside. I tossed and turned in my bed, attempting in vain to gain a comfortable position in which I might be able to sleep. My shoulder and leg were throbbing dully and I had learnt over the past couple of years that both were unlikely to let up until the storm had also passed.

Giving in to the fact that I would not be sleeping tonight, I pulled on a dressing gown and headed downstairs, grateful that Mrs Hudson had decided to keep the living room fire lit. It was November, and London had been experiencing a very dismal spell of weather, culminating, (I hoped), in the storm tonight.

The living room was empty and a quick glance to the mantlepiece revealed it to be an ungodly hour of the morning. Rubbing a hand across my eyes, I went to the window and pulled back the curtains. The view was, of course, obscured by the rain pounding against the glass, but flashes of lightning were still visible, if a little blurred. I sat back in my armchair so that I might watch the storm play out before me.

A few minutes later Holmes entered and I immediately shifted from my position, guilty that I had awoken him. "So sorry Holmes, I hadn't realised-"

He raised a hand to forestall my apologies. "Not at all Watson. The storm was keeping me awake also." He spared a distasteful glance at the window, pausing as another rumble of thunder rang out. Then he cast his gaze back to me. "I take it that is why you are here, rather than your bedroom?"

"Indeed," I replied, lowering myself a little stiffly back down. He nodded and went to his own armchair, snatching his pipe up from the table as he did so.

For a short while we sat, the companionable silence between us filled only with the noises of the storm as we both watched the maelstrom outside.

"There is something about it," I remarked, as another arc of lightning flashed across the sky, "something almost... chaotically beautiful."

"Hmm." Holmes took a languid blow of his pipe, tilting his head toward the window as though to observe the view better. "I see what you mean Watson, but beautiful as it may be to look at, I do wish it weren't quite so loud."

I chuckled softly. "A point on which I must very much agree upon, my dear Holmes." I did not mention that the thunder somehow succeeded in plunging me back into thoughts of dusty plains and searing heat, and of gunshots ringing out across a dry desert...

"-Watson?"

"Sorry?" I turned my head sharply to Holmes, jolted from my memories. "What did you say?"

"Did you hear that?" he asked. His brow was furrowed, as though he were concentrating on something.

I strained my ears. "I can only make out the thunder-"

"Listen closer. It is over the sound of the storm, a sharp banging of some sort...There it is!"

And indeed now I could hear it, just faintly, over the gale outside. "It sounds," I said slowly, "as though someone is knocking at the door. But surely not at this hour..?"

"And in this weather," Holmes said, rising instantly to his feet. "Someone must be desperate indeed."

"Or mad," I muttered, but Holmes had already gone down to see who it was. I settled back into my chair, hoping that whoever it was, they would not overly disturb us. I should have known such a hope was foolish in the extreme.

"Watson!" Holmes's voice rang out, and I was on my feet in an instant, "Watson I require your assistance!"

I pounded down the seventeen steps, the pain in my leg now forgotten at the urgent edge to Holmes's voice. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I understood his panic.

Wiggins, the lieutenant of the grubby bunch of street urchins whom we had dubbed The Irregulars, stood just inside the doorway. He was attempting to hold up another, younger boy, whose face was pale and sweaty and who I believed I recognised from that same group.

"I'm sorry Mr 'Olmes," Wiggins was saying, "only with Andy like this I din't know where else to take 'im and I thought the Doctor cud-"

"Take him upstairs," I cut across his apologetic ramble, going to hoist Andrew - for I remembered now that was his name - into my arms. "Holmes if you would get some blankets... Wiggins you come upstairs with me."

* * *

_**Holmes**_

Watson had laid out the boy - Andrew Milton, if my memory served me right - uponthe sofa, but I could see that all was not well from his frown as he checked pulse and temperature. I was perched at the very edge of my armchair, ready to help if needed, but quite painfully aware that I could do very little in a medical setting. Wiggins was also watching the proceedings, sitting in Watson's armchair and wrapped in one of the blankets I had brought up.

"How is he Watson?" I asked quietly, as he drew out a syringe from his medical bag.

"I'm not entirely sure," he murmured, rolling up a ragged sleeve. "Once I've given him

something for the pain..." He trailed off, peering curiously at Andrew's thin arm.

"What is it?" I leant further forward and he angled the arm towards me, revealing a series of small puncture wounds.

"Someone has already injected him with something," Watson said grimly, pointing to a fresh hole in the crook of his elbow.

"Do you know what it might be?"

He shook his head ruefully. "I've never seen anything like it. His pulse is racing, he's as cold as ice but sweating profusely and seems unable to pinpoint precisely the site and nature of the pain that he's in.

As if to punctuate his last words, Andrew let out a painful moan. "H... hurts..."

Watson was at the boy's side in a flash, managing to be both caring and efficient in a way which I knew I would be unable to spoke in a low comforting murmur, at the same time re-checking pulse and temperature. He turned to me,his look of hopeless desperation one I had never witnessed before.

"His heart rate is dropping. Rapidly.".

"Is there nothing you can do?"

"Not without knowing what the drug _is_." Watson sighed, frustration evident, and picked up the abandoned syringe.

"Is 'e- is 'e gunna die Doctor?" Wiggins asked in a hushed voice. Before Watson could answer another voice had broken again into the conversation.

"Wig? Is-issat you?"

Wiggins looked at me and I nodded, gesturing him forward. He swallowed, pushing himself from Watson's armchair and edged toward his friend.

"Yeah Andy, I'm 'ere," he whispered.

"I'm- I'm scared Wig..." he said, in a painful whimper.

"It's alright Andy... Doctor Watson's just giving you some... some medicine," said Wiggins, even as the syringe entered Andrew's arm. "It's... it'll make you better."

I am, by no means, an emotional man. I work so closely in relation to violence and death that many have often accused me of being insensitive to it, to the point of being completely cold-blooded. Yet as I watched the two young boys in what would be their last conversation I felt the same sense of helplessness which I had seen in Watson, rise inexplicably within me. It frustrated me to know there was nothing I could do.

Andrew fell silent, and for a moment I hoped it was simply the painkillers taking hold.

I looked to Watson, but he shook his head, his hand trembling slightly as he took the pulse he already knew would not be there. When he spoke, his words were hollow.

"He's gone."


	2. Chapter 2 - Begins

**A/N - **_Hello again! Sorry not very much happens in this chapter - there will be some actual Batman soon, I promise.  
_

_Again, many thanks go to_ **mrspencil **_for her awesome beta-ness.  
_

* * *

_Chapter 2 - Begins_

_**Watson**_

I am not entirely sure what occurred in the half an hour or so after Andrew's heart stopped beating. Holmes has since assured me I was quite capable in sending Wiggins up to my room to get some rest, before packing up my medical equipment and sending a telegram to the undertaker. I suppose it must have been what came into action during my time serving in the army. The same mechanical numbness which enabled me to push on and ignore the death and destruction all around me then, meant that it was only when the body had been removed and I had returned to the living room that I truly began to consider what had happened. I sagged into my armchair, and let my head fall into my hands.

I had known what it was to be helpless before; to lose a patient because of lack of supplies, bad luck and circumstance. This was different. I had not known what I had been confronting and my lack of knowledge had cost Andrew his life.

"Watson." I felt a thin hand on my shoulder and raised my head to look up at Holmes. "We have to get to the bottom of this."

Holmes had never been one to openly discuss emotions or feelings at great length. . Although he was prone to bouts of introspection at times, he infinitely preferred to deal with a problem which he could confront physically or mentally, rather than simply reflect upon. This was his way of saying that I should not waste time on pointless regret, but work with him to bring those responsible to justice.

"You are sure that it is foul play, then?"

He nodded, face thoughtful, and went to his chemistry set. "That mark on his arm would suggest as much. I took a blood sample from the body-" I winced at this, but his back was turned and he did not notice "-yet I cannot seem to find a trace of anything!"

"So it- it wasn't any kind of drug or poison-"

"No, that is still a likely possibility." He turned back around and began to pace, still deep in thought. "It was simply something which could not be detected,. Something neither you nor I have been able to recognise from the symptoms or a blood analysis..."

"And something very dangerous," I finished, "to produce near-instantaneous death-"

"But was it so close to instantaneous?" Holmes rejoined. At my questioning look he went on, "You are right, Watson, that he died within minutes of being brought to us by Wiggins. But when had Wiggins found him? Where for that matter? How long after being injected with this substance did Andrew Milton live?" Holmes picked up his pipe from where he had left it before and began to fill it with tobacco. "If we answer these questions then it might serve very well in giving us a picture of why he was killed and by whom."

"We have very little evidence to go on," I commented.

"No," he agreed, puffing his pipe. "We shall question Wiggins as to where he found Andrew and go there to investigate. Though I fear that the longer we wait the more chance of evidence being lost."

"All the same, Wiggins will benefit from a proper rest."

Holmes did not answer, and I suspected he was angry that investigation into this would be delayed. I could understand how he felt - but in all likelihood the storm had already wiped away anything of use. I let out a long breath, feeling very suddenly drained.

"Do feel free to make use of my bedroom Watson," said Holmes. "Perhaps you might be able to grab a few hours' sleep yourself now that blasted storm has finally abated."

"It has?" I looked to the window, shocked to see that Holmes was right. Furthermore I could just make out the very first tendrils of morning sunlight creeping out from behind the London buildings. "I suppose I didn't notice..."

"Go Watson," said Holmes firmly. "I will be quite unable to sleep whilst consumed with this business."

I thanked him for his offer and went to take him up on it, again struck by that peculiar way he had of showing he was not, as he might have some believe, a heartless automaton.

* * *

_**Holmes**_

There were over a hundred different theories chasing their way around my head, each as useless as the next and last so long as I remained starved of information. It was deeply irritating to know exactly what needed to be done, but be unable to do it.

I knew Watson was deeply unsettled - he had departed for my bedroom several hours ago, but I would not be too surprisedif he were still awake in there, turning over everything in his head as I was now doing. I wondered whether he knew that I was equally as troubled by Andrew Milton's death, though perhaps not for entirely the same reason.

I would have to be blind to be unaware of the situation which some of those living here in London were forced into. I had been to all the seediest pubs and back alleys in my career and I had seen the very poorest of the poor. Scotland Yard would hold no interest in the death of Andrew Milton, because quite frankly it was nothing new. People and children living in slums or without any home at all died every day and the plain truth of it was that the robbery of a middle class businessman was far more pressing an issue to them than the potential murder of some dirty urchin living on the street. It bothered me that I had never before considered that for many of the boys in my employ, I was the only one, save Watson, who could in any way protect them. And in that one duty, for Andrew Milton at the very least, I had failed.

I sighed and went to the table, pouring myself some coffee. Mrs Hudson had come up at the usual hour, somewhat surprised to find that Watson was not yet awake. I had told her all that happened and she shook her head sympathetically before disappearing to the kitchen so that she might supply everyone with a hearty breakfast. I allowed myself a small smile at that - to her mind all of the greatest problems in life could be solved with a hot meal.

"Mr 'Olmes?"

"Wiggins!" I exclaimed, inordinately pleased to see him standing in the doorway. Now that he was awake, I could get down to business. "Come and sit down. Mrs Hudson has left out breakfast, though I imagine it may now be better described as lunch..."

Wiggins went at once to the table and tucked eagerly into the meal. "Where's Doctor Watson?"

"He went up to bed soon after you did," I said, also sitting down. I did not eat, but watched the boy seated across from me. He continued to devour his eggs, oblivious. "Wiggins... I have some questions to ask you."

There was a pause as Wiggins took a very long swallow. "They about Andy?"

"Yes. Can you tell me where you found him?"

"Me and a few of the other lads - Steven, Phil and Toby - we was all gonna go under that old broken bridge down near Lower Crampton Close, 'cos we cud tell from all the thunder that there was gonna be a bad storm coming. Little bit later we see Andy coming towards us. Which is strange," he added, face thoughtful, "'cos now I think about it I hadn't seen him fer a while..."

"Why not? Where had he been?"

Wiggins shrugged. "I dunno. I only noticed he weren't around 'cos of his brother - er that's Toby. See usually you cud never see one without the other, but fer these last few days it's just been Toby hangin' round on his own."

"I see," I said, filing away this information. "Do continue. You saw Andy coming towards you?"

"Yeah... yeah so he came up and he was all wet-"

"Because of the storm?" I interjected, but Wiggins shook his head.

"Storm hadn't started yet. But Andy, 'e were properly soaked through. 'E weren't shivering or nuffin' - it were right strange. Like 'e'd stepped out the Thames, but 'e 'adn't noticed."

"And then?"

Wiggins furrowed his brow, struggling to remember. "We said 'ello... and then I said I'd go and see if I cud nick- er... get us some food...I came runnin' back when the storm started, but- they'd all gone."

I raised an eyebrow. "Gone? All of them?"

"Well, everyone but Andy," Wiggins amended. "He was on the ground, moaning and screaming sumfin awful. That's when I brought 'im 'ere."

"I see. And you've no idea what prompted the others to leave?"

"Didn't really have the chance to think about it 'til now..."

I nodded thoughtfully and Wiggins returned to his meal. This case might prove more puzzling than I had first surmised.


	3. Chapter 3 - Legends on a Dark Night

**A/N - **_Thanks again _**mrspencil** _for a wonderful beta job._**  
**

* * *

_Chapter 3 - Legends on a Dark Night_

_**Watson**_

"You were right, Watson," Holmes muttered grimly from where he was crouched, examining the ground intently. "The storm seems to have washed away anything of use. If there was anything here to begin with." He straightened up and brushed himself down, peering around through the pre-twilight darkness. "You say he came from which direction Wiggins?"

"That way Mr 'Olmes."

Wiggins had brought us to a thoroughly dilapidated structure which was hardly worthy of its title of "Bridge" - but Queen's Bridge it was. The stone bricks were crumbling and there were several missing, no doubt stolen for one purpose or another; the bridge certainly served no practical use any more. This particular tributary of the Thames appeared to have dried up long ago, now a boggy mess due only to the storm of last night.

"It wuz like 'e'd been stood in the rain for hours Mr Holmes," Wiggins went on as Holmes took a few steps in the direction he had indicated. "Right drenched through 'e was. Only it 'adn't been raining by then."

Holmes walked back toward us. "These other friends of yours, the ones who left last night - where do you believe we might find them?"

Wiggins shrugged. "Any number of places Mr 'Olmes. I can take a look if yew like, but it cud take a while. Not like any of 'em's very fixed in their accommodations..."

"I understand, Wiggins," said Holmes, "but it is important we find them. With the damage this storm has wrought, they may prove to be our only lead."

Around an hour later and I felt that Wiggins had taken us to all of the poorest areas of London. We went to many other bridges, multiple rooftops, as well as several sheds and other such abandoned buildings. In all of these places we were met by children - pitiful, ragged street urchins whose faces were dirty and whose limbs trembled on such a bitter night as this one. None of them were the children we were looking for, and none had seen them any less than two days ago.

By the time Wiggins had brought us to the last place he could think of to look - an old back alley with just enough cover to justify it as a place to sleep for the night - it had begun to rain. Only a light drizzle, but as we approached the street my eye was caught by a young girl huddled up close against what I could only assume was her even younger brother, who was leaning against her to sleep. I removed my overcoat and tucked it around them. Her head jerked upward and she blinked in surprise. Her brother wriggled closer against her, his breaths deepening as he relaxed into what I hoped would be a far more comfortable rest. She glanced over at him, her surprise softening and looked back at me with a small smile of her own.

"Thanks."

I would have replied, but Holmes's strident tones interrupted me.

"Any luck?" he asked, as Wiggins made his way back from his friends. Wiggins shook his head.

"No-one's seen 'em!"

"Blast!" Holmes whirled around angrily. "How could four children just disappear like that? Deucedly odd, wouldn't you say Watso-?" He stopped short at the sight of me in only a waistcoat and shirt sleeves and his eyes travelled to where my missing overcoat lay, acting as blanket to the two bedraggled children. He raised both eyebrows in a questioning stare and as I was about to both explain and justify my actions, I was saved the trouble by the girl who was partly behind them.

"Maybe they wuz taken."

In an instant Holmes had seized on this, whirling around so he was facing the girl.

"Taken? By whom?"

"It's alright," I assured, as her eyes widened in alarm at Holmes's intense questioning. "We are detectives - the children we are searching for may have some information which could help us. No one has seen them since yesterday. Do you think you can help?"

"Well..." she said, looking hesitant, but spurred on, (or so I liked to imagine), by the overcoat now keeping her warm, "kids've been going missing fer a while now. Not rich kids or nuffin' - just the ones like us. And it ain't like when someone goes missing usually either," she added hastily. "It's like... like you don't see 'em one day. Then the next day then the next 'til you realise you ent seen 'em for weeks. But no one's mentioned anything 'bout 'em bein' ill or- or in an accident or somethin'."

"And then there's all them stories..."

"Stories?" Holmes was listening raptly to every word she said. "What about?"

"'Bout... people," she whispered, glancing around nervously. "They come round and offer

yew a bed fer the night and food... but I ent never taken me and Charlie to 'em cos- well 'cos you 'ear all these stories 'bout it, but I don't reckon I ever spoke to anyone whose been and come back. All yew 'ear is rumours. And-" she faltered, looking terrified, and I smiled encouragingly at her. With a gulp, she continued, even quieter than before, "well I saw this girl this morning - Elsie Cartwright. And she said- she said that some blokes came round and took a few kids with 'em and then they tried to take 'er, only she din't want to go, cos her Ma's ill and that..."

""Tried" to take her?" Holmes asked. "I find it unlikely that a young girl would be able to resist the efforts of the men you are speaking of."

"Yer well-" she blushed, looking a little embarrassed, "-she was comin' out with some right strange stuff. I didn't believe half of it, but... well what she said wuz that something saved her. It was big and black and..."

"And..?" I prompted gently.

"And it wuz flying. Like- like a bat she said."

* * *

_**Holmes**_

Though I could not say I quite agreed with Watson's methods (honestly, the man's shoulder wound was clearly already bothering him and he wished to expose it further to this cold weather?!), I knew I was unlikely to succeed in dissuading him from a chosen course of action, at least not when said action involved the welfare of another. And it was hardly as though I could deny his results - the young girl he had befriended had given me a veritable wealth of new information to consider, not to mention a new lead to follow.

This case was becoming stranger by the second. Watson might have labeled me heartless for the thrill I extracted from these singular happenings. A murder caused by an unknown drug, children being kidnapped from the streets of London, and now a mysterious flying "creature"...

Wiggins knew Elsie Cartwright and agreed to lead us down to where she lived which, as it turned out, was not too far from Queen's Bridge.

"Wiggins," I asked as we passed the Bridge for the second time that night. "Do you think

Miss Cartwright is one to make things up?"

"Not really... I mean she doesn't go in fer ghost stories or that..."

I thought this over. There was certainly no reason for this Cartwright girl to have been lying - she gained nothing from it. Meaning that she was telling the truth - or rather, what she perceived to be the truth. The question was just how much she had really seen and how much of that was merely imagination.

I was drawn from my thoughts by Watson calling my name. As I had suspected the cold was wreaking havoc on his old wounds and I slowed my pace to match his own.

"How much of this do you think is connected?" he asked as he caught up with me, pointedly ignoring his now-noticeable limp. "Andrew's death, the missing children and this... this creature? Are they all linked somehow, or are the events isolated?"

"An excellent question Watson, but one I am currently unable to answer. Hopefully Miss Cartwright will be able to shed some light on the matter."

We turned onto Bell Lane and Wiggins pointed to a house about halfway down. "That's where she lives," he said. "She and 'er ma used to rent out rooms, only now 'er ma's sick- 'Ang on." He tilted his head to one side, peering down the street, where a distant shape was growing steadily approaching through the fog, "Issat a cab?"

"A cab?"

At this hour? I thought. In this area..?

"Quickly Watson," I hissed, pushing him back around the corner of the street.

"Holmes, what on earth..?" Watson began, but I ignored him, turning instead to Wiggins.

"Wiggins I want you to hide here and watch who exits that cab - as soon as they're out of sight, come back to us."

"What is it, Holmes?" Watson whispered as we waited around the corner, the noise of the approaching cab falling suddenly silent.

"I predict, Watson, that whoever is in that cab has come with the intention of paying Miss Cartwright a visit."

He looked surprised. "The kidnappers from before?"

"I believe so," I answered. "If my suspicions are right, they have come to finish the job they started."

"But why?" he asked and I gave a humourless smile.

"If I knew that my dear Watson, we would already have with case wrapped up."

"No Holmes, I mean-"

But I never did find out what he had meant, for at that very moment the near silence of the foggy night was split by a loud cry.

"MR 'OLMES- _mmf_!"

We both leapt at once to our feet, for that quickly stifled bellow was undeniably that of Wiggins.

* * *

**A/N - **_DUN DUN DUUUUN! Yes that WAS a cliffhanger. _


	4. Chapter 4 - Strange Apparitions

**A/N - **_Hello readers! As you can see things start to pick up a little in this chapter. And in the next one we may even get to some real life Batman. _

_Thank you again _**mrspencil**_! _

* * *

_Chapter 4 - Strange Apparitions_

_**Watson**_

The chill of the night and its effects on my old scars were forgotten as we rushed headlong into whatever trouble Wiggins was in. I cursed myself for having not brought my revolver.

Holmes's initial suspicion had been correct - the cab had parked directly alongside the house Wiggins had told us was Elsie's. At the door of the cab there was a man and, although the persistent drizzle made it difficult to distinguish the details of his features, I could very clearly make out the form of Wiggins, being stuffed roughly inside. I felt Holmes go very still beside me.

"Release him."

The man jumped and spun around at my friend's steely tones. He looked us up and down. "'Scuse me?"

"The boy you just placed inside your carriage. Release him," Holmes repeated, voice deadly. He took a step forward and I took it with him, my own anger fuelled at the sight of a man who was compassionless enough to harm a child. "Or I assure you, the consequences shall be dire."

"Now gents," the man said in an appeasing tone, "I'm sure two such as yerselves don't

want ter get into such sordid business as this... why don't you be on yer way?"

Needless to say, Holmes paid his words no heed. "You have a companion - where is he?"

The man's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. "I dunno what yer talkin' 'bout mate," he said, no longer eager to please. However, as he spoke, the door to Elsie's home opened. Another man emerged, his arms filled with an unconscious child I took to be her.

"Thomas?" he said, eyeing us warily as he too went to the cab, placing his unconscious bundle inside, with a great deal more care than his associate had done with Wiggins. His voice was slow and ponderous, as though he had to place a great deal of thought into every word he spoke. "What's going on?"

"Thomas" regarded us for a moment, then shook his head.

"Nuffin' mate. Just a couple of posh toffs." He spared us a sneer. "Reckon they got lost

on their way to the opera or something."

I started forward angrily, but Holmes placed a hand on my arm, shaking his head. Thomas, seeing this, let out a bark of laughter.

"That's right. Wouldn't risk it mate - the sort of fighting we do round 'ere ain't like that poncy stuff you do at yer gentleman's club."

I would have happily shown him the sort of fighting I had partaken in at Maiwand, but again Holmes's hand prevented me.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked the man. "What interest do you have in these children?"

"What interest do you have in 'em?" Thomas returned, "What do you care about a couple a dirty kids?"

"It may surprise you to realise that not everyone holds the same blatant disregard towards children as you do," was Holmes's cold reply. "And we both know there have been far more than just "a couple" of missing children in the past months."

Thomas stiffened."'Ow'd you know that?"

Holmes's eyes flashed dangerously. "As a detective it is my job to know what others would rather keep hidden."

"Detective?" Thomas yelped. He exchanged a glance with his companion and it put quite a smile on my face to see the panic upon theirs. "Y-yer with the yard?"

"Indeed," Holmes said after a moment, apparently deciding that lying about our identities would produce a better response from the two men. "My name is Lestrade, I am an Inspector, as is Gregson here," he added, with a gesture in my direction. I could not help but be a little amused at our pseudonyms, but fought down a smile. Holmes always did have a taste for theatrics. "We have been looking into these "kidnappings" for quite some time."

Thomas licked his lips nervously. He glanced again to his friend, who was watching him with something akin to apprehension.

"Alright," he said, looking back to us.. "I'll tell yeh what I know. Oh, er, Jasper-" he added and his friend swallowed, as if fearful. "-I reckon it's about time fer yer medicine."

"Medicine?" Holmes interrupted sharply, eyes darting hawk like from one man's face to the other.

"Oh it's just an injection of morphine Inspector - has terrible troubles with his back, does Jasper."

Jasper did not comment, but had closed his eyes momentarily. He took a deep shuddering breath, his face an unpleasant shade of grey - he certainly didn't look well. And yet I could not help but feel there were some ulterior motive to this sudden request for medicine.

"Go with him," Holmes said clearly thinking along the same lines I was. "And don't let him anywhere near Wiggins or Miss Cartwright," he added, in a quiet undertone so the two criminals could not hear. My memory was cast back to the puncture wounds on Andrew's arm and I went swiftly after Jasper.

As soon as the cab doors were open I set about checking Wiggins and Elsie over. Wiggins had a large bruise on his head, but seemed otherwise unharmed and though Elsie showed no sign of bodily injury, she was utterly unresponsive. I checked her pulse and found it to be strong and regular - drugged then.

Jasper was busy removing a hypodermic needle from a small wooden case, his movements as slow and careful as his speech.

"That's not morphine," I said, as he loaded the syringe, eyeing the unfamiliar substance with suspicion. "What is it?"

"Medicine," Jasper grunted. Remembering what Holmes had said, I adopted a protective stance in front of the children. He took no notice. "Mister Jim give it me..."

"Mr Jim?"

"No need to worry," he muttered, again ignoring me. He winced as he pushed the plunger down, letting out an audible moan. "'S only me medicine..."

I took a step forward as he began trembling violently, and the syringe fell to the ground with a smash! I would have asked if he were alright, but what happened next quite robbed me of speech.

I heard the distinct sound of several bones snapping and popping out of place as the tendons in his neck surged outward, growing larger and larger until they resembled sinewy ropes. The muscles in the rest of his body were expanding in the same way and within a few seconds he appeared to have grown both outward and upward, a human of impossible proportions, who towered well over eight feet.

I vaguely registered a voice calling out, asking if all was well, but I was unable to answer - for an impossibly strong hand had seized me around the throat and was lifting me high into the air.

* * *

_**Holmes**_

The sight of my flatmate hurled halfway down the street did not quite render me speechless. It did, however, make me quite forget about our adopted pseudonyms.

"Watson!"

He had landed on his front and now pushed himself onto all fours, shaking his head forcefully as though dazed. He looked up at the sound of his name and his confusion transformed instantly to terror.

"Holmes!" he bellowed, and pointed behind me. "Look out!"

I must say that my shock at Watson's plight was nothing to that I felt when I turned to see what had frightened him so. It was Jasper - or it certainly had been, once. Now he had grown to a giant of epic and grotesque proportions, unbelievably large and muscular, but undeniably real.

Impossible, I thought to myself, just as a powerful fist came slamming toward me. I dove out the way and it struck a lamp post instead, which creaked dangerously. I scrambled to my feet, still gaping at the behemoth, and felt a hand on my back. I spun around.

"Watson!"

He raised a finger to his lips and pointed to Jasper, who was preoccupied with the lamp post, clearly frustrated that it had not broken and doing his best to rectify the situation by hitting it repeatedly. Watson pulled me swiftly toward a small side path running alongside Miss Cartwright's house.

"Are you alright?" I asked him once we were hidden.

"Fine," he replied, but his voice was hoarse and he was holding his shoulder far stiffer than he had before. "I would have been a great deal worse if not for those Baritsu techniques you taught me_(1)_. Are we safe here, do you think?"

"For the moment at least," I muttered. "Is that- that thing-?"

"It's Jasper," Watson verified. "He injected himself with something - I knew it wasn't morphine but I thought that as long as he didn't give it to the children..." He shook his head, disbelieving. "I never imagined..."

"No one would," I said, as a loud, metallic _snap!_ rang out. It would seem Jasper had succeeded in breaking the lamp post.

"He will have torn up all of London before the night's through," Watson said. "Unless Thomas has some way of keeping him under control."

As if on cue, Thomas began to talk. "'Ere, Jasper, yew idiot - stop messing with that, git after them two!"

"Mist- Mister Jim... Kill, he said. Killlll." The word turned into a growl and then a roar, and there was an almighty _CRASH!_ Perhaps it was Jasper, throwing his lamp post in rage. "KILL!"

"Not me! It's Thomas you idiot!"

"Wiggins is out there - he and Elsie are in as much danger from Jasper as Thomas is right now," Watson said, barely audible over Jasper's roars and Thomas's ineffectual protests.

"Indeed," I agreed, mind whirring as I considered what to do. "We could distract Jasper perhaps, lead him away?"

"But surely Thomas will take the cab and the children and escape?"

"Yes," I admitted. "But Wiggins and Miss Cartwright would be safe - at least for the short term."

It was an imperfect solution, not to mention a dangerous one. I racked my brains, trying to think of something else, but Jasper let out a guttural, inhuman bellow - the loudest yet- and Thomas screamed. Time was up.

"Watson wait!"

He had been about to run toward the noise, but I caught him by the arm. I had been struck by a sudden idea.

"Watson," I said to him, eagerly. "If one of us distracts Jasper, then the other can tail Thomas - latch onto the back of his cab before he gets away!"

He stared at me for a moment, taking this in. Then his eyes glinted with a sudden determination.

"Very well," he said, removing his arm from mine with an adventurous grin. "I will distract him."

"No, Watson, I can-"

"I doubt my shoulder could stand the strain of clinging to the back of a cab old fellow," he called back to me, already sprinting. "Good luck!"

I opened my mouth, unsure how to reply, but it was too late anyway - he had disappeared, back onto Bell Lane.

* * *

_(1)_ I'm using my creative license to say that in Baritsu (made up fighting technique that it is), you have to learn how to land properly from a throw or whatever, like you do in Judo, and this is what Watson did when Jasper threw him.


End file.
